Ghosts of the Past
by phoenixnz
Summary: Bishop reflects on her Probie Eval. Oneshot. Note: This is Episode related from Season Twelve: episode seven. It may contain spoilers. I do use dialogue from the show in only the last part but that's all. It's used only to help illustrate, as this is in many ways a self-analysis on Bishop's part.


There are times when I wonder just what exactly I'm doing here. Jake used to have to listen to me all the time complain about not being an agent at NCIS, and I was thrilled to be given the opportunity last year.

Now, though, I wonder. I've heard all about Caitlin Todd and I've heard about Ziva David. Well, even in the NSA you hear things about other agencies. Sometimes it was like both women were held up on the highest pedestal, yet I still don't understand what was so great about them.

So, Kate was Secret Service before she joined NCIS, which I guess meant she was a lot tougher than me. But, you know, I'm no delicate flower. I grew up in Oklahoma, with three older brothers. Three brothers who didn't care if I was a girl. Heck, I was expected to be tough as nails.

When Kate died, she was replaced by Ziva David, a woman who was apparently an assassin or something for Mossad and was the Mossad liaison before she decided to join NCIS full-time.

I've been trying to live up to ghosts of the past. Apparently I have a lot to live up to.

Yet, it seems that everyone seems to think they need to walk on eggshells around me. It bugs me. I know I make mistakes, but I'm still sort of new to this. I'm an analyst. I do research, I analyse data, I create reasonable scenarios based on that research. Don't get me wrong. I've handled guns before. I mean, Oklahoma is known as a gun-friendly state. As long as you have a permit.

That doesn't seem to make a difference to my colleagues. Oh, it's not McGee, or DiNozzo. Even Abby is great and Ducky is like, well, sort of like an uncle, or something. No, it's everyone else in the squad room, and in the offices.

The other day I heard someone gossiping and my name came up. I stayed hidden in the shadows as they talked by the water coolers. Seriously, how clichéd is that to stand by the water cooler, talking crap about people they hardly know. Anyway, I'd just had my evaluation and I was waiting for the results and ... I'm not sure who it was, exactly, but they were talking about how apparently hopeless I am as an agent. I got the impression they were making some sort of bet on how poorly I'd been marked and how long I'd last.

As mad as that made me, I was just more determined than ever to prove them wrong.

I have to admit, when I saw the results of my evaluation, I was shocked. An eighty-two. That had to be good right?

Of course, then I remembered that DiNozzo got a fifty-eight. I just looked at him, completely aghast. Tony DiNozzo is our most senior agent, next to Gibbs, and he's the best we have. I couldn't believe he'd scored so low. McGee was only slightly better.

I was more worried than ever when I went down to autopsy to talk to Ducky about the case we were working on. I got the information we needed then began to walk away. His voice stopped me.

He wanted a word before I left. He always calls me Eleanor. I don't know why. Jake calls me Ellie. Gibbs calls me Bishop. Tony calls me Probie. Not that I mind, really. I stopped and looked at him, wondering what was up.

He told me today was a difficult day. Jimmy interjected, talking about how he'd been training for nine months. Of course, then he started talking about how 'magical' that time frame is. He got this look on his face. I'm not so good at reading expressions but it was almost like a dreamy smile as he began musing about the baby he and his wife were having, who would hopefully enjoy long walks.

I'd heard all about Ducky and his way of going on tangents. It seemed like Jimmy was doing the same thing. Of course, he was excited about his impending fatherhood. I could see Ducky was getting a little annoyed, which was kind of unfair, but I just sent Jimmy a small smile.

He looked a little sheepish and apologised, since this was apparently about me. Ducky quickly interjected before Jimmy could go off on another tangent. I kind of know why Tony calls him 'autopsy gremlin'. Sometimes the way he launches into a story, especially over a body he's examining or sewing up, can be kind of creepy. Not in a bad way, but ... anyway.

So Ducky tells me it's about my Probie Eval and I started to tell him about my high score, but he cut me off, telling me not to fret about the score. He stepped toward me, a kind smile on his face, like a kindly old uncle who has collected a lot of wisdom over the years.

Then he told me something which filled my stomach with dread. I began to feel almost a cold sweat. Apparently Gibbs gives low scores on purpose. To push you. Jimmy went a little further, saying that the lower the score, the more potential Gibbs thinks you have.

So if he gave me a high score, what did that mean? Should I be packing my desk? Ducky chuckled, thinking nothing was wrong, and confirmed my worst fears.

I couldn't help thinking about that all through the day. I think that must have been the reason I screwed up and let a suspect get away. I remember Gibbs gave me that steely-eyed look he only reserved for when he was really pissed. I kept expecting him to say something. Yell at me. Anything. He didn't say a word.

Still, when I tried to talk to him about it, he shut me down with a 'It's fine'. Damn the man anyway. He can be so frustrating sometimes.

I ended up down in autopsy, pretending I liked it because it was quiet. Ducky saw right through me.

I knew I'd screwed up royally and I was filled with self-doubt. Ducky and Jimmy's earlier talk about the high score versus low score on the Probie Eval hadn't helped at all. Maybe I should be turning in my badge, I thought.

Still, I pursued the case and came up with a lead, which would have taken the case to Vietnam. Yet Gibbs refused to let me go. I knew then he was more than pissed off at me. Yet he still hadn't said a word. So I confronted him, accusing him of going easy on me when he hadn't with the other probationary agents.

I started to think that maybe everyone else was right. Maybe I didn't have a hope of making it as an NCIS agent.

Still, I liked my job. I hesitate to say it's more exciting than being an NSA analyst but I did apply for NCIS before I took the job at the NSA, and I jumped at the chance of working there.

I get it. Sometimes I screw up. I'm not sure if it's a confidence issue. I mean, I'm pretty smart. I wouldn't like to say I'm a genius, but my IQ tests did put me at the high end of the scale. I know I hesitate sometimes. It's not easy being pretty much dumped in the deep end. You either sink or swim, and there are times when I think I'm drowning.

I know I can learn from my mistakes, if I can just get past this whole thing with Gibbs.

I was working in my usual position on the floor when Gibbs came in and started shutting down for the night. For once we didn't have a case where we were forced to pull an all-nighter, since we'd wrapped up the case of the murdered veteran.

Gibbs asked where DiNozzo was and I told him he'd already left for the night. The air was still thick with tension. I had barely spoken to my boss since the confrontation and I had no idea how to defuse the situation.

His tone was cool as he asked me what I was still doing at work. He briefly glanced at me and told me I'd done good work. I'd helped a family find out where their relative was buried and at least give both the dead man and the family some peace.

This time, it didn't seem like empty praise. I just thanked him quietly.

He came around the desk and stood over me. I don't know whether it was meant to be intimidating, but I steeled myself for what I expected would be harsh words. Perhaps he was about to fire me.

I was surprised when he told me I was right. I kept my tone even as I replied. Then he said he had been going easy on me, but it had nothing to do with me. I didn't understand that.

How could it not have anything to do with me, since it was me it was affecting? Well, Tony and McGee as well, but mostly me. I mean, if I'm getting let off easy, then I'm not pulling my weight, so to speak.

His face took on what I could only say was a wistful expression as he looked over at the desk; my desk. Both Kate and Ziva had sat at that desk. He talked about how he'd lost two people from that desk. Two good people.

He seemed to think that he'd been doing something wrong, so he'd changed his methods.

I started to realise something. He had lost two good agents. One had been killed and the other had chosen to leave. I wasn't sure why Ziva had left. She was almost like the pink elephant in the room that nobody wanted to talk about. Especially Tony. I got the feeling they were more than friends, although it's so hard to tell with him, since he's always so full of innuendo. It's tough to take him seriously sometimes. Or figure out when he's joking about something.

Gibbs blamed himself for both of them. He thought if he hadn't been so tough on them that Kate wouldn't have died and Ziva wouldn't have left. Like I say, I don't know why Ziva left and nobody's about to tell me, but I hardly think that was Gibbs' fault. Yet he'd gone easy on me for that exact reason.

I looked up at Gibbs.

"This job is hard."

"I know that," he replied.

I don't think he really understood what I was trying to get at.

"No, it's hard, Gibbs. It's inevitable you'd lose people along the way. It doesn't mean your way of teaching is wrong. Look at Tony and McGee; they're amazing!"

"Yeah," he agreed softly.

"I want to be like them. I want to be like you, Gibbs."

I think he understood what I was saying. Just because one agent had died and the other had walked away, it didn't mean they weren't as good as the others or that they couldn't handle it. If I thought about it, anyone who hadn't been taught by Gibbs might not have lasted as long as they did.

So, I told him to push me, the way he did the others. He finally agreed. It was back to the old way.

He picked up his coat and returned to glare at me.

"This floor is for standing and walking."

I stared at him. I'd gotten away with my habit for nine months, now he was telling me to ...

"Sit in your damn chair, Bishop!"

I hastened to comply as he left the squad room. It looked like it was no more Mr Nice Guy. I smiled as the elevator doors slid to a close.


End file.
